


Me [21M] with my roommate of 3 years [22M], I'm worried I might be homophobic towards him?

by BombshellBlondie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Claurenz Week (Fire Emblem), Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Self-Discovery, lorenz is kind of a thot but good for him! good for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BombshellBlondie/pseuds/BombshellBlondie
Summary: After rooming together for three years, Lorenz starts bringing guys home. Claude hates it.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, mentioned marihilda cuz i can't stop myself, minor ferdinand/lorenz, minor lorenz/some others, past hilda/claude
Comments: 15
Kudos: 260
Collections: Claurenz Week: Winter 2020





	Me [21M] with my roommate of 3 years [22M], I'm worried I might be homophobic towards him?

**Author's Note:**

> For day 3 of Claurenz Week 2020. Somewhat obviously based on that one Reddit post where the guy thinks he’s homophobic because he can’t stand seeing his roommate be with other guys, only to realize it’s actually because he’s in love with him. Claude is the Redditor. Please help him.

It all started when Claude walked out into the kitchen one morning to find a broad-shouldered, ginger-haired man sitting at the island counter— _shirtless_ \--eating a bowl of cereal.

 _His_ cereal.

“Oh, good morning!” the man said cheerily. “You must be Lorenz’s roommate. I apologize for my… state of dress. I wasn’t aware you would be here.”

“I live here,” Claude deadpanned, irritation stirring in his stomach. It was because this stranger was eating his cereal, he reasoned. “Claude von Riegan. You are…?”

“Oh! Look at me, it seems I’ve forgotten _all_ of my manners this morning,” he laughed, and the irritation in Claude’s stomach began to bubble. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Claude struggled to say through his teeth. He tried to act casual as he poured a bowl of cereal for himself and sat down at the other end of the counter, leaving the middle seat between them. It was _painfully_ silent, though, and Claude found himself asking a question he already knew the answer to, just to make some noise. “So, Ferdinand… why are you in my apartment?

Ferdinand, at least, had the decency to blush, “Ah, well, you see, I matched with Lorenz on Tinder last week, and… well.”

 _Well_.

“He didn’t tell me he had a boyfriend,” Claude had meant to sound curious, but his words came out sharper than intended. _What_ was his problem this morning?

“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to call it that,” Ferdinand said pleasantly. “We certainly aren’t exclusive. It’s just for fun, you know.”

Claude knew. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had his _own_ share of “Just For Funs” in the last three years that he and Lorenz had been roommates. It was in their roommate agreement—as long as the noise was kept to a minimum, they were allowed to bring other people home. This was just the first time _Lorenz_ had been the one to exercise that right, and for some reason it pissed Claude off.

When Lorenz finally emerged from his room (with a slight limp, Claude noticed against his will), he was just as casual about the whole thing as Ferdinand. He apologized to Claude easily for forgetting to send him a warning text, which Claude brushed off despite how irritated he still was for fear of sounding like a hypocrite. _He_ forgot the warning text almost every single time, after all, and who knows how many times Lorenz had woken up to find some strange girl in the kitchen eating _his_ cereal. Definitely often enough that Claude had no right to complain, now that the shoe was on the other foot. And yet when Ferdinand excused himself and left Lorenz with a chaste goodbye kiss, Claude nearly bent his spoon in half.

What the _fuck_ was wrong with him?

Ferdinand came around a few more times after that, and each time Claude inexplicably found himself more upset by it. It wasn’t that Ferdinand was a bad guy; he was a little annoying and a lot full of himself, but so was Lorenz—hell, so was _Claude_. He was tolerable when they were just hanging out, and sometimes Claude even found himself enjoying his company. But every time he would plant a kiss on Lorenz’s cheek or play with his hair, Claude’s stomach would churn and he would get the urge gather all that orange hair in both hands and fling him out the window.

Eventually, Ferdinand’s visits to the apartment dropped off, and Claude felt guilty for being relieved by it. His roommate, one of his closest friends, was going through a breakup. He should have been sympathetic. Instead, he found himself in higher spirits, knowing that he no longer ran the risk of walking in on them every time he opened his apartment door.

His suspicions were confirmed when, at the One Week Since Ferdinand’s Last Appearance mark, he stole a glance at Lorenz’s phone and saw him once again on Tinder. Claude couldn’t help himself.

“Swiping again?” he asked, as casually as possible. “What happened with you and Ferdinand?”

“He finally got the man he was pining over to ask him out,” Lorenz said, seemingly unbothered. “No hard feelings, I’m meeting him for tea this weekend to talk, but I expect it to be an amicable conversation.”

Claude hoped his satisfaction wasn’t _too_ obvious, “He dumped you for another guy? I _knew_ he was secretly an asshole.”

Lorenz scowled, “We weren’t _dating,_ Claude.”

 _Could’a fooled me_ , Claude nearly grumbled aloud. “He was just stringing you along, then. That’s almost worse if you ask me,” he said instead.

“You seem rather keen on consoling me over a breakup that never happened,” said Lorenz. “As I’ve told you before, Ferdinand and I were never serious. I’d actually been giving him tips on how to win this very man’s affections. I’m happy for him.”

“ _You_ were giving dating tips?” Claude asked, with perhaps a bit too much bite, judging by the glare Lorenz shot up at him.

“If your only intention in speaking to me tonight was to mock me, I think this conversation should end here,” he said curtly. “I’m going to turn in early.”

Claude suddenly felt sick again, and this time without Ferdinand’s presence to blame it on, “Wait, Lorenz, I was just—”

“Good _night,_ Claude.”

Lorenz’s second (second?) Tinder hookup was tall, square-jawed, and built like a brick-shit house. Claude only knew this because he got home early one day, opened the door, and found the two of them making out on the couch. _His_ couch, where he ate popcorn and binged B-List Netflix dramas in his PJs. Lorenz scrambled off the guy’s lap and apologized to Claude, explaining that he didn’t know he’d be home so early. Claude played it off, partially out of self-preservation (this dude was _huge,_ and Claude wasn’t stupid), but mostly because he was overcome with… disgust. And he didn’t know why.

It wasn’t because Lorenz was gay. He’d known that much for years now, and Claude wasn’t a bigot—at least, he didn’t _think_ he was. His parents had always been open-minded, and they’d raised him to be the same. He wasn't the type of person to hate someone or something just because they weren’t like him, and he didn’t _want_ to be. Bigotry was something _learned,_ not some innate instinct that couldn’t be helped. At least, he thought it was. But for some reason, seeing Lorenz with some guy’s hands all over him had made Claude sick to his stomach. And thinking about what might have happened between them if he _hadn’t_ returned home early made him want to vomit.

Unfortunately, Lorenz was beginning to notice the subtle changes in Claude’s behavior, and it was affecting their friendship. Their conversations were shorter and more infrequent, and some days they didn’t speak at all. Claude wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know how to broach the topic. ‘ _Sorry Lorenz, I didn’t know this when we started rooming together, but I guess I’m a homophobe.’_ He thought about just moving out, but he _liked_ Lorenz; he was a good friend and a good roommate. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him to cover the rest of their lease by himself just because Claude was, apparently, no longer capable of being either of those things.

The breaking point came not a week later. Claude had been in a _great_ mood on his way home from class--Hilda was coming over tonight for a horror movie marathon, a tradition he looked forward to every month. Lorenz usually joined them, which meant there was a good chance he _wouldn’t_ have some guy over tonight.

It was just his luck that Claude would come home at the exact same time as Lorenz’s third ( _third?)_ hookup was leaving.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed as Claude nearly opened the door directly into him. This one was also tall, with bright red hair and a self-satisfied grin that made Claude want to punch him right in his handsome face. He winked as he stepped around him to get out the door, “Looks like we finished up just in time. Sorry for intruding.”

“Yeah, you should be,” Claude blurted before he could stop himself. The smile fell from the guy’s face, and Claude, knowing he should apologize but not wanting to, opted to shut the door in his face instead.

When he turned around, Lorenz was glaring daggers at him.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” he asked.

 _Good question._ “Uh...”

“You’ve been _exceedingly_ rude lately,” said Lorenz. “What is your problem?”

“Me? I don’t have a problem,” Claude lied. “What’s _your_ problem?”

“ _My_ problem is that you’re acting like a complete hypocrite,” Lorenz spat. “Goddess knows I never complained back when Hilda would be wandering around the place in her underwear nearly _every goddamn morning_. But now that _I’m_ the one bringing people home you have the audacity to act put-out?”

Claude clutched his backpack strap defensively, “I am _not._ ”

“Do you have a problem with me sleeping with men, Claude?”

“No!”

“ _No?”_

 _“No!_ Fuck, just maybe go to _his_ place every once and awhile?” though even as Claude suggested it, his stomach turned. “I live here, too, you know.”

Lorenz cocked an eyebrow at him, “So as long as it doesn’t happen here, you don’t mind?” 

“Yeah, whatever! It’s your life,” said Claude, because _yeah, whatever_ , right? It wasn’t his business, it shouldn’t _bother_ him, _none_ of this should bother him.

For some reason, this only seemed to make Lorenz angrier. “I’m going to Ferdinand’s,” he said, and yanked his coat unceremoniously off the rack by the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, Lorenz,” Claude called after him, “Hilda is coming over tonight, remember? We were all gonna hang out?”

“Well, I suppose you’ll just have to spend time without me,” Lorenz huffed. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the two of you can think of _plenty_ of activities to enjoy by yourselves.”

“Wh-- _Lorenz_ , come o--”

The door to the stairwell slammed shut, muffling the heavy sound of Lorenz’s Oxfords stomping down the stairs. The sick feeling in Claude’s stomach got worse.

He had half a mind to call Hilda and cancel all together. But she would demand to know why, and Claude would end up having to explain everything to her over the phone anyway. He’d _much_ rather have this conversation in person, over a couple of whiskey sours. Their little stint as friends-with-benefits had ended ages ago, but Hilda still had her ways of getting Claude out of his head.

Sure as shit, her first question when she showed up that night, clutching a bottle of vodka in one hand and a stack of Red Box DVDs in the other, was “Where’s Lorenz?”

“He cancelled,” Claude said, taking the items off her hands so she could remove her coat. “It’s just us tonight.”

Hilda eyed him suspiciously, “Hmm, you better not have gone and gotten any expectations about tonight, Claude. You know my heart belongs solely to Marianne now.”

“Hey, I have _no_ ulterior motives. I even tried to remind him that you were coming over tonight,” said Claude. He cracked open the bottle of vodka and started mixing a couple of drinks as Hilda flopped down on the couch and threw her feet up on the coffee table, making herself at home.

“So, why’d he cancel?” she asked as Claude handed her a drink. “What could be more important than hanging out with his two best friends?”

Claude took a long sip of his own drink and hoped it would kick in quickly. “We’re sort of, uh... fighting,” he admitted.

“Hn? Did you use his shampoo again?”

“No, I...” Claude sighed. How was he supposed to explain this without sounding like a complete asshole? He finished his drink in record time and had just set to mixing a second one when Hilda’s hand grabbed his wrist.

“Whoa, slow _down,_ Claude” she pried the bottle from his fingers and brought his hand back down to his lap, releasing it with a little pat. “You’re _really_ upset about this, aren’t you? What happened?”

The concern in her voice was so genuine, Claude found himself explaining everything that had happened in the past few weeks almost immediately. The irrational anger he’d felt upon meeting Ferdinand, the way his stomach twisted in knots when he saw him kiss Lorenz, the way he wanted to puke every time some random dude put his hands on him. Hilda, contrary to popular belief, was an excellent listener. She sat through his whole, long-winded speech without interrupting or offering judgement, and her presence gave Claude the courage to admit, for the first time, “I’m worried that I’m homophobic or something, Hil. I don’t _want_ to be, but I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

At this, finally, Hilda’s stoic façade cracked. She snorted, “Claude, you are _not_ homophobic. When I told you Marianne let me take her v-card you gave me a high five.”

Claude’s hand twitched, and he considered his chances of being allowed to make himself another drink. “Exactly, I’m worse! I’m one of those guys who is fine with the idea of two girls getting it on but grossed out when it’s two dudes.”

“Have you ever felt like this around any _other_ gay guys before? You seemed fine when you went to Pride with us last summer,” Hilda asked.

That was a good point, and also something that had never crossed his mind. He _had_ been fine at Pride. He’d been more than fine, actually; he’d had a _great_ time, hadn’t even been put off by the number of guys who tried to hit on _him_.

“I guess... I don’t know. I thought maybe it was just because it was happening in my house now, but then he said he’d just go to the other guy’s house from now on and I _still_ felt sick to my stomach,” said Claude. “Just _thinking_ about it is enough to set me off.”

Hilda considered him a moment longer, still watching too closely for Claude to risk reaching for the vodka again. Finally, she said, “I don’t think you’re homophobic. I think you’re _jealous_.”

Claude’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Why would I be jealous of Lorenz’s sex life? I get laid at _least_ as much as he does, if not more.”

“Oh my _gosh._ No, sweetie, jeez—I thought you were smarter than this,” Hilda said. “You’re jealous that _you’re_ not the one banging Lorenz. You have a crush on him.”

Now it was Claude’s turn to laugh, “ _What?_ No, you think I have a crush on...”

Hilda raised her eyebrows at him over the lip of her glass as she sipped her drink.

Claude took a moment to entertain the thought. In his mind’s eye, he put himself in the place of the guys Lorenz had been bringing home recently. Kissing him on the cheek before heading out for the day. Combing his fingers through his hair. Having him sat on his lap while they made out on the couch, running his hands up his back only to drag them back down as they--

 _Oh no_.

“Shit,” Claude said, “I have a crush on Lorenz.”

When he reached for the bottle again, Hilda didn’t stop him.

Around midnight, Claude fumbled his way through ordering her a Lyft (the least he could do for making her spend the last five hours talking him through an increasingly drunken identity crisis). Hilda left him with a pat on the shoulder and what little remained of the bottle of vodka, which Claude finished up less because he actually wanted to and more because he hoped it would finally knock him out. Mercifully, it did, and when Lorenz returned home in the morning, he would find Claude asleep on the living room couch with the empty bottle still in his hand.

In retrospect, it may have been a bad idea to waste every minute he’d had between coming to terms with his crush on Lorenz and the man himself returning home shit-faced or asleep. Lorenz was sitting on the far end of the couch with his legs folded under him when he woke up, and Claude had no strategy for confronting him at all.

“I see you still managed to have fun last night,” Lorenz said without a hint of humor in his voice.

Claude tried to focus, he really did, but his head was pounding, and now that he understood his feelings for the man sitting in front of him he was starting to… notice things. Like how long his legs were, and how soft his hair looked, and how _handsome_ his profile was, all sharp angles and high cheek bones. Claude’s mouth was painfully dry, and not only because he’d just woken up after a night of excessive alcohol consumption (granted… that probably wasn’t helping).

First things first, though. Slowly, so as not to disturb his aching brain any further, Claude sat up on the couch. Lorenz was watching a rerun of some trashy soap opera, and the fictional drama was as good of a background for this conversation as Claude had any right to ask for.

“Lorenz, look, I… owe you an apology,” he said, watching his own hands twist together nervously. “I’ve been acting like an asshole.”

“Mmhmm, you have,” Lorenz agreed, eyes still trained on the television.

Claude continued, “You were right, you totally have the right to bring guys around, especially after what I put you through with Hilda for that first year. So… I’m sorry. For being a jerk.”

The soap opera suddenly went mute, and Claude hesitated a glance up to find Lorenz looking at him. “My, I never would have expected Claude von Riegan to offer a genuine apology.”

“Hey, I offer plenty of genuine apologies!” Claude protested. “You’ve just never been deserving of one before.”

Lorenz quirked an eyebrow, “That’s debatable, but let’s agree to disagree. I accept your apology, Claude.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Claude smiled at him, “Thank you, Lorenz. You’re a good friend.”

“As are you, at least when you want to be,” said Lorenz, and it may have just been a trick of the light, but Claude could have sworn he was blushing.

Claude said nothing else, and the silence between them was replaced once again by a dramatic conversation on the TV. He could never follow the story lines of these shows, mostly because he had no desire to. The drama was often petty, unrealistic, and nine times out of ten it could be resolved if the characters only bothered to _speak_ to one another... and okay, maybe it wasn’t so unrealistic after all.

Needing to clear his head (and what was _definitely_ one of the worst cases of morning breath he’d ever had), Claude left Lorenz on the couch to brush his teeth, shower, and plan his next move.

He’d cleared the first hurdle: the apology. But there was still the unresolved conflict of these new feelings. Standing under the shower spray with his head still pounding, Claude reasoned that he had two options:

  1. Ignore the crush and hope it went away.
  2. Confess.



Short-term, option one would be the easiest. Doing nothing was always the easiest. But Lorenz would keep brining other guys home, and Claude didn’t know if he could handle that. It was hard enough to keep his temper when he didn’t know _why_ he felt this way; now that he knew, it would be next to impossible. Option two was terrifying—Claude was no good at showing weakness. But compared to the alternative, putting himself through a couple minutes of hell to come out with answers on the other side was preferable to resigning himself to wallow in these feelings for an indeterminable amount of time. Even against his best interests, Claude was a man of action. There was no feeling worse than doing nothing when there was something that had to be done. 

That didn’t stop him from stalling in the bathroom for as long as he could, though. He brushed his teeth, flossed twice, spent far longer than necessary staring in the mirror and fucking with his hair. It wasn’t laying right. His face looked terrible (thanks, alcohol). In the end he resigned himself to it, threw on an old t-shirt and pair of jeans that he’d grabbed haphazardly from his dresser, and slunk back toward the living room.

The soap opera had ended, replaced by some morning talk show that Lorenz wasn’t paying attention to in favor of scrolling-- _scrolling_ , not swiping, and Claude was embarrassed to be so relieved by the motion of his thumb--through his phone. He didn’t look up when Claude sat back down on the couch next to him, awkwardly stiff with his hands in his lap.

“So, this isn’t an excuse,” Claude began, “but I think I figured out last night, why I was acting like such an ass.”

Lorenz didn’t look up from his phone, “Oh? Do tell.”

This was it. Claude took a deep breath, “It’s... because I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Lorenz repeated, finally looking up at him. “What would you have to be jealous of? You seem to have no trouble finding people to share your bed with.”

Claude’s face _burned. “_ That’s not what I...” he wrung his hands together, “I wasn’t jealous that you were getting action and I wasn’t. I was jealous because _I_ wanted to...”

He couldn’t do this. He hadn’t even said it yet and Claude’s heart was already beating in his ears. He felt completely naked, vulnerable, and he only had one toe out of the closet. He wanted to take it back, walk away from the conversation and hide behind his mask again. But then Lorenz dropped his phone on the coffee table like an anchor, and Claude had his full undivided attention.

“You wanted to...?”

“Fuck, Lorenz,” Claude sighed, “I like you, okay? A lot. I didn’t realize it until I started seeing you with other guys, because it made me sick and angry and I didn’t know _why,_ just that I didn’t like them touching you. At first, I was afraid I was homophobic, but then Hilda told me it sounded like I was just jealous so I started thinking about how I’d feel if _I_ were the one touching you instead and--”

“Claude,” Lorenz cut in, “you’re shaking.”

 _Shit,_ he was. Claude forced himself still, but every atom in his body still vibrated with pent up energy.

“You’re serious about this,” Lorenz said, as if he couldn’t believe it. “At first, I thought this must be some sort of elaborate prank, but... you’re serious.”

When Claude began to bounce his knee rapidly again, Lorenz’s hand was there to still it.

“I have a confession of my own to make,” Lorenz continued, “I’ve found myself having feelings for you, too. I thought it was hopeless, because I had assumed you weren’t interested in men, but... it seems I was mistaken.”

Claude nearly choked on a laugh, “ _Ha_ , yeah... that makes two of us,” and then, when the weight of Lorenz’s words caught up to him, “wait--you have feelings for _me_?”

Lorenz blushed a pretty pink, “Why do you sound so surprised? You’re handsome, confident, and as I said before, a good friend when you want to be. You’re ambitious and intelligent, and you’ve got a knack for--”

“ _Careful,_ there, Lorenz; you keep talking like that and my ego is going to burst,” Claude warned. The cocky tone of his voice was betrayed by the flush rising to his cheeks. “So, is that it then? Are we, like, boyfriends?”

The hand on his knee gave him a gentle squeeze, and Claude could have sworn his heart would stop. “If you want to be. I imagine you’re working through a lot of different emotions right now. I know what it’s like, and the last thing I want to do is overwhelm--”

“Can I kiss you?” Claude immediately regretted the question—he sounded _far_ too eager.

Lorenz smirked, as if he would comment on that very thing, but seemed to think better of it. “If you’d like,” he said.

“I _would_ like,” said Claude, fear of sounding too eager be damned. With very little preamble, he closed the remaining space between them and pressed his lips to Lorenz’s in soft kiss.

This, Claude knew how to do. He kissed him easily, lazily, almost innocently. Lorenz was a better kisser than Claude had expected, and the sensation of his lips moving against his own had Claude’s heart jumping in his chest.

When the kiss broke, Lorenz rested his forehead against Claude’s and asked, “So, do you still think you’re homophobic?”

Claude laughed, and opted to pull Lorenz back for another kiss rather than answer. No, he was _definitely_ not homophobic. As it turned out, Lorenz kissing guys was fucking _great_ , as long as Claude himself was the guy being kissed. The hand that had been on his knee came instead to thread through the hair at the back of his head, and Claude found himself sighing into the kiss and responding in kind. Lorenz’s hair was so _soft,_ so silky and smooth in a way that Claude couldn’t replicate even when he _did_ steal Lorenz’s shampoo. It also seemed like it would be really, _really_ fun to mess up. Maybe later.

With some coaxing, Lorenz got him to straddle his lap. “Should be easier on your neck,” he mumbled, and Claude might have believed that was his only intention, had his hands not landed on his ass hardly a second later. Claude grinned into the kiss and rolled with it, slotting their mouths back together and getting his tongue around Lorenz’s with a pleased hum. He wrapped his arms gently around Lorenz’s shoulders and gasped into the kiss when the hands on his ass gave a firm _squeeze_.

“ _Lorenz,”_ he breathed, “eager, are we?”

“Proud words from a man currently sitting in my lap,” Lorenz shot back. A teasing brush of fingers against his lower back caused Claude to shiver.

“You should at least buy me dinner first,” said Claude, “or are you not as noble of a gentleman as you’d have everyone believe?”

“I _have_ bought you dinner,” Lorenz said as he ran two fingers up his spine, “ _numerous_ times, in fact,” his hands left goosebumps everywhere they touched, and Claude struggled not to groan. “I think, according to the latest spreadsheet, it is _your_ turn.”

Claude snorted, “Gloucester, your hand is on my ass, and you’re seriously bringing up The Spreadsheet?”

 _That_ got him a sharp slap on the ass. Claude yelped, somewhat undignified, and Lorenz had the gall to look shocked.

“I’m sorry, was that too much?” he asked sheepishly, as if he couldn’t feel the beginnings of an erection pressed against his thigh. Typical Lorenz; unflinchingly bold until he wasn’t.

“You’re fine,” Claude said, grinding their hips together to prove his point as he leaned in for another kiss. “You can do it again, if you want.”

It was Lorenz’s turn to groan, a whisper of breath against Claude’s lips, “Who’s eager now?”

In the end, Claude did buy dinner—pizza, ordered delivery from the app while still in Lorenz’s lap, slumped against him, after they’d come in their pants from making out like teenagers. It should have been embarrassing, _would_ have been embarrassing if Lorenz hadn’t been just as bad off. Mostly, it was just gross.

They took it slow—comparatively speaking. Claude was no blushing virgin, but he was new at... _this_. Lorenz didn’t push him, content to go at his pace. That didn’t mean they didn’t get distracted. They set off the smoke alarm one night, stood outside in the cold with the rest of the building and explained—with as few details as possible—how they managed to let their dinner catch fire to an exhausted fireman who’d probably heard far too many similar explanations to not know exactly what they’d been doing instead.

Burnt dinner aside, it was good. _Really_ good. So good, Claude had only wished he’d figured it all out earlier. He’d been worried things would change, but they fell into a routine with surprising ease. Coming home from class and having Lorenz to talk to had been nice enough _before_ the process came with a warm “welcome home” and a kiss at the door. Claude’s clothes gradually transferred themselves from his room to Lorenz’s, because Lorenz had staunchly asserted that he would “ _not_ set foot in that death trap you call a bedroom until you tidy it up,” and Claude wasn’t about to let his own disorganized genius prevent him from sharing a bed with his boyfriend (boyfriend!). They still poured over their homework together, Claude still teased Lorenz for being unable to handle properly seasoned Almyran cooking, and Lorenz still complained about Claude using his expensive shampoo. But now they went through daily life with hands intertwined, sharing kisses whenever they felt like it, and at the end of the day, instead of retiring to their own separate rooms, they fell into bed together.


End file.
